Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [45]
Zweller noticed that Riker had begun looking at him appraisingly. “Commander Cortin Zweller,” Riker said, a calculating look in his eyes. “Captain Picard has told me a great deal about you. Including the fact that we might find you among the Slayton’s survivors.”
Survivors?
Zweller’s heart leaped into his throat. He took a deep, calming breath before speaking, pausing to make certain that his mental shields were still intact.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the Slayton was blown to pieces several days ago,” Riker said.
“By whom?” Zweller said, swallowing hard. He had grown quite close to many members of the Slayton’s crew. For the past several days, he’d been trying hard to avoid facing the possibility that, except for the few who had accompanied him to Chiaros IV, they were all dead.
“When we left the Enterprise for the peace conference,” Riker said, “we were still trying to determine exactly what happened.”
Zweller wondered if Koval might be involved. But what did the Tal Shiar chairman have to gain from the Slayton’s destruction? It made no sense; the Romulans had already all but won the Geminus Gulf. The region simply didn’t have enough value to justify the commission of an overt act of war.
“We recovered some wreckage,” Troi said, “shortly before we escorted Ambassador Tabor to the peace conference.”
Taking care not to let the Betazoid sense just how well he knew Aubin Tabor, Zweller said, “How is the ambassador?”
Riker shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. The last time I saw him, he’d just been run through with a rebel dagger. One of your friends here evidently tried to assassinate him.”
Zweller suddenly felt as though there wasn’t enough air in the room. So many friends and colleagues gone, so quickly. It was too much to digest all at once.
“You call us assassins?” Grelun barked, his voice tinged with murder. He made a quick hand signal to the holding-cell guard, who immediately dropped the forcefield. Then a wicked-looking dagger appeared in Grelun’s hand, as though conjured out of thin air. The rebel leader took a single menacing step toward Riker.
Riker made no move to back away, nor did Troi.
“Speak that lie again, human, and I will cut out your tongue! Your ‘ambassador’ was caught drawing a weapon on Falhain.”
“That’s not how it looked from where I was standing,” Riker said. His muscles were tensed, but he didn’t budge. He neither advanced nor gave ground.
Zweller knew that to show fear before a roused Chiarosan warrior was to provoke a lightning-swift, lethal attack. But he also knew he had to disperse some of the tension in the air, or else Riker was sure to be crippled or killed. Concealing his apprehension behind a stern expression, Zweller stepped between the two men and spread his hands in a placating gesture.
“Falhain would not have wanted this, Noble Grelun,” Zweller said, struggling to back his words with the correct blend of authority and deference. “Too much blood has already been spilled. Instead, I ask you: Let me show them what you’ve shown me.”
A long moment passed, during which time Zweller wondered if Grelun weren’t seriously considering killing them all. Then the rebel leader sheathed his blade as quickly as he had drawn it. He stared at Riker and Troi, his eyes still as cold and hard as the farthest reaches of frozen Nightside.
Grelun’s gaze remained fixed on them even as his body swiveled toward his guards, to whom he said, “Manacle them and bring them to the vehicle pool.” He then stalked away down the corridor and was gone.
Riker emerged from the cell, followed by Troi. The presence of the three armed guards seemed to persuade them both that any attempt at escape would be ill-advised. The pair stood impassively while the guards bound their hands before them.
“I don’t see any handcuffs on you, Commander,” Riker said to Zweller. “Am I correct in assuming that you’ve decided to cooperate